


And Sometimes You Can't

by flinchflower



Series: Slash Me Twice [29]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Cuddling and Snuggling, Hurt Dean Winchester, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Tessera, Wincest - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-11-11
Updated: 2011-11-11
Packaged: 2017-10-25 22:24:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,698
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/275508
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flinchflower/pseuds/flinchflower
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prompt 29: Guilt.  Follows from Prompt 28.  Dean continues to struggle with healing, in the aftermath of Dean’s punishment, Sam can’t hide from John's keen eye.  Reference to Prompt 28's spanking.</p>
            </blockquote>





	And Sometimes You Can't

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: Not for profit, simply a writing exercise. Herein lies Dean/Sam slash, in an AU timeline where John did not lose his life. John appears in parental context only. Follows in series from previous prompts, but stands alone if preferred.

Dean’s startled to hear Sam tapping on the bedroom door, and grabs a towel to bury his face in as he hollers that it’s unlocked. He rubs the soft cotton over his face, drying away the tears and hoping that the cold water took some of the red out. Sam’s expression is a weird combination of panic, woe, and sheepish apology. Dean’s at a loss for words, so he pulls out his Winchester vocabulary.

“Dude.” _I don’t blame you, and what the hell is the matter?_

“Uh, Tess is here, sent me to fetch you.”

Dean’s face goes back in the towel, and Sam’s arms circle him tentatively. “Sorry,” the boy whispers.

“Not your fault,” he replies. He dredges up some of his sense of humor, and winks at Sam. “Could always tell Dad about Sweetwater,” he says, and Sam pales. That was the last hunt that Sam fucked up, not following their plan, which John is still unaware of.

“Uh…”

Dean snorts, smacks the kid upside the head companionably, and goes out to meet Tess. She raises an eyebrow at him, looks him up and down, and damned if he isn’t blushing. Not too many people on the planet have that ability.

“Well, well, boy. Back into the bathroom with you, the light’s better there.” She shifts her medical bag on her shoulder and follows him, winking at John. Sam’s standing anxiously, not sure what to do. John smiles to himself.

“Sammy, sit down.” JOhn gets up, cracks a bottle of water open and sets it down in front of the boy, gives him something to play with. “There something you wanted to say?” Sam’s a brilliant shade of red now, and he waits patiently. Finally he gets Sam’s patent puppy-dog eyes.

“Did you have to spank him so hard?”

John laughs, inviting Sam to lose any fear he has rattling around in his overthinking brain. He gets a wry smile out of his boy. “Did you ever repeat any of the fool things you did after I gave you the same?”

“Nosir,” Sam replies, a little shy.

“He mad at you?”

“No sir.”

“Neither am I,” he says, pausing to make his point. He kind of feels sorry for Sam, who flushes again and rubs at his eyes. John’s got a pretty good idea of why Sam’s so tired, but he’s not going to push it at the moment. “Why don’t we watch that movie you were talking about, Sam, the historical flick.” His son brightens, and they retire to the couch, John hoping that he can stay awake long enough to soothe Sam into sleep himself.

Tess closes the bathroom door, rests her bag on the broad counter.

“Well, boy, what are you waiting for? You can strip, don’t think that I’m going to neglect to look you over to make sure you’re telling the truth.” He obeys, a little reluctantly, and her attention goes to his calves, which are covered in the telltale poison ivy rash. She looks the rest of him over, and motions for him to turn. She can see the dusky crimson of his bottom in the mirror, but he must not be thinking about that, because he turns slowly. There’s a patch of nearly healed rash on the back of one of his arms, other than that she thinks he’s clear. She's watching a couple of the healed spots that are a little raw from clothing rubbing them carefully as well. Tess pats the counter. “Come on. Up here, so I can treat that.” He blushes to match his spanked butt. Usually she lets him treat himself, but she’s making a point, he guesses, and he’s just glad that she hasn’t swatted him – at least not yet. Her hands are soothing, like always, cool and gentle with the ointments. It relaxes him some, though the fire radiating from his rear end isn’t relaxing in the least.

“Dean, once this clears, if you don’t show anything else on your hand or your feet – you’re done. If you’re lucky, just a few days.”

“Good.”

“You mouth off to your father?”

“No, ma’am.”

“Then explain to me the color of your bottom. I believe I told you that you needed to wait before you played with Sam, and if that’s his handiwork, I’ll paddle you again myself while your daddy looks on.”

“Dad found out about a hunt we screwed up on a couple months ago.”

“I see.” She finishes neatly with the bandage. “Get on out there, then.”

They’ve only been gone for about twenty minutes, but Sam’s already slumped over on John’s shoulder, breathing lightly. Dean can tell he’s not fully asleep, and hesitates at his father’s side. John gives the boy a stern look and points at the table, and he goes, feeling like a chastised five year old. Tess stands and studies the two men on the couch for a few minutes, then walks silently over to a cupboard, pulls out a pillow and a blanket. She’s smiling, and Dean’s watching covertly as he begins to write – hopefully he can get through this quickly, because the kitchen chairs are fucking hard. Tess lays the pillow across John’s legs, and John chuckles softly, nodding when Sam sleeps through the laugh, and carefully eases his son down, so he’s lying on the pillow in John’s lap, thinking wryly of how much easier it was when Sam was half the size he is now. Tess waits to be sure the movement doesn’t wake him, and covers the boy up with a blanket. John runs a fond hand over Sam’s long locks.

Dean has to blink hard a couple of times, and berates himself for being ridiculous, telling himself it’s just the amount of pain radiating from his ass. Tess has asked John softly if she might stay and keep him company, and John seems appreciative of the company. Dean’s had to shake out his writing hand twice, when he hears the first moan from Sam, the noise that means Sam’s fast in the grip of a nightmare. It’s something that frustrates Dean, that he never knows until he hears that telltale noise, Sam never shows any other sign that a bad dream is beginning. He looks up desperately at his brother, and John catches his eye. His father looks stern, and points to the page in front of Dean. He goes back to writing, watching covertly again.

“Sammy.” John’s voice is quiet as he runs a light hand along Sam’s shoulder, and Sam shivers, moans again. “Sam.” There’s just the barest hint of command in his voice. “Sam, you’re fine. Dean’s at the table, I’ve got you.” Sam’s hand reaches out, and John captures it in his own, his warm fingers soothing the chill of Sam’s. “You’re ok, baby.”

Dean can barely hear his father’s words, but he can see the little frown on Sam’s face relax, and he realizes that he can breathe again, though his thoughts are kind of muddy. Reading over his account of the hunt, he shifts uncomfortably. He has to admit he deserved every swat, and his father’s words are going to stick with him for a long time. He looks up, catches John’s eye, and John beckons him over. He hands over the papers – four pages, for god’s sake, and there probably ought to be more, but he’d need Sam’s help for that. John nods, lays them down on the end table.

“Dean, go take your pills, get to bed. I’m not waking him until I need to lie down.”

Dean nods, though his steps are reluctant. At least John can’t swat him to hurry him along, he thinks, and then he hears Tess rise from the chair. Her dark eyes glint as he complies with John’s request, and she follows him into the bedroom, closes the door. The covers are already turned down, and he throws himself onto his stomach on the bed, trying to hide the fact that he’s upset. The constant ache of the rash, and the weight of the drugs - antihistamines and antibiotics - he’s not got the kind of control he wants. It’s frustrating him, not to mention the heaviness of the guilt the spanking laid down, the worry for Sam. Tess just carefully pulls the covers up, sits down beside him.

“We’ll make sure Sam gets some sleep, Dean. It’s not going to do you any good to lie awake and fret, you won’t heal unless you’re getting enough sleep.”

He just takes a deep breath, because he’s tired out, and if he says anything it’s gonna be whiney, and he’s not in the mood to have her swat him, even though he normally likes the attention, not that he’d admit it to her or Sam for that matter.

“It’s all right, Dean. John and I have got this. We need to figure out a way to get the boy to sleep through the night, we’ll talk about it in the morning.”

“Our system works.”

“What system is that.”

“He’s only bad for a couple hours, and I don’t sleep heavy then, and when he gets up in the morning he leaves me be for a few hours.” His words are tangling up as the sleeping pill takes effect.

She just smiles gently at him, and it’s a tangible ache as the pill yanks him into unconsciousness. Tess leaves Dean sleeping, and prowls out to see John carefully easing back the recliner that’s built into the couch.

“He’s worried about Sam.”

John grunts. “Need to get Sam training harder. There someplace he can run?”

Tess gives him a wry look. John’s a good father, but in a lot of ways, he’s a typical male. “No. But he can come down to the pool with me in the afternoons. John, he needs more than that. You want Jim or Missouri, I think. They shouldn’t be coping the way they are. I’m surprised you didn’t see it.”

“They’re good at hiding things.” John replies, and his son stirs.

“Guilty as charged,” Sam mumbles, with a sleepy smile.

John strokes his hair fondly. “Just go back to sleep, Sammy. We’ll talk in the morning.”

**Author's Note:**

> Aerosmith - Mama Kin


End file.
